Adhering to social norm, and
obligated duty at the ball
I ask Her Majesty for a dance
and she gracefully extends a hand
Then we step, spin, and sway
as eyes behold in awe

But, who am I in late e'en
to command the silence of a queen
She lay motionless in the cuverie
as I savor the côtes
rousing deep breath and sigh

And I, not befittingly
command a vineyard of floral unfold
The sun riseth not, but heat is known
as lord of land tends each blossom
and shall forsake none

Who am I to drink as a noble
and taketh of fruit so divine
Thy hands remove the canopy
which adorned all I aspire
Seized and raised to mouth
Engaging in gluttonous frolic
as the queen declares 'halt not!'

I shalt not forbid thee
a request for royal execution
Assign thy sacrifice as mine
descending on my dagger
Exhaustive love for loss of life
conquers and consumes thine eyes

Mine end too, be not untimely
as harvest comes to pass
And I, decant into your grasp
Rims of the barriques break
and a peasant dons a crown

~
Scott Mitchell